


Not My Kid.

by pricelesstrashpanda



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxiety, Blood, Blood and Injury, Cutting, Depressed Peter Parker, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Iron Dad, Irondad, Loss of Parent(s), Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Has Panic Attacks, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Protective Happy Hogan, Protective Tony Stark, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Spider-Man - Freeform, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie) Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, Uncle Happy Hogan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 07:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30135864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pricelesstrashpanda/pseuds/pricelesstrashpanda
Summary: When Tony Stark left an army of drones to a sixteen-year-old kid he loved like his own son, he knew it was a big world and Peter Parker really was just a kid. He knew there would be people who would try to use the gift against him. He also knew better the depth of the darkness accessible to the human mind. That's why he made sure no one was ever going to use his tech in that way. Not against Peter. Not against his kid.
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> fandom: mcu  
> tw: grief, death mention, hinted depression  
> set: post-endgame  
> category: gen  
> summary: following tony's funeral, pepper gives peter one last gift from the man who became like a father to him. but peter is so overwhelmed with grief and everything else being thrown at him that he can barely even bring himself to open it.

Tony’s image stooped in front of his daughter, somehow at exactly the right height.

“I love you three thousand.”

He smiled a little, reaching out to stop the recording. But before he did, his gaze snapped up, and it locked with Peter’s. A little nod, more like an upward inclination of his head, and then the video snapped off.

Peter closed his eyes, begging himself not to cry. Not here. Not now, in front of everyone… Happy, Pepper, and Morgan on the couch in front of him, Rhodey in a chair next to it. Clint, leaning against the wall behind Rhodey. Bruce, standing back a little. Harley, someone Peter didn’t know other than from the occasional story of Tony’s, but who was clearly a genius, in between the two pieces of furniture. Thor, also leaning against a wall, but behind the couch. And Steve… standing right next to Peter. 

No. He couldn’t cry. He was standing next to  _ Captain America _ , and he couldn’t cry. 

Laughable that he thought it would make a difference, though. He knew none of these people could have any kind of respect left for him. After all, he was basically a child. And on top of that, he was a child who’d failed his fath… who’d failed his mentor. He was supposed to be at Tony’s side. He was supposed to have his back. And he’d messed it up. 

Just like he messed everything up.

Tony certainly wouldn’t be surprised.

But he would be disappointed.

Yet that look, that nod, lingered with Peter. They’d certainly seemed to be meant for him. He’d heard Mr. Stark’s voice in his head, clear as daylight.

_ “That goes for you too, Kid.” _

Peter forced his eyes open and swallowed hard. No. He was imagining it… he was placing way too much value on himself in Tony’s eyes. It could have been meant for anyone… anyone except Peter.

The silence that had engulfed them after the recording was finally broken as Pepper took a deep breath, obviously choking back tears. 

“Peter.” She turned to look at him over the back of the coach. “I… have something for you.”

The teen searched her face, desperate for answers. What could she possibly have for him?

“For… for… for me?”

She offered him a teary smile. “Tony… left these for you.” She held out what looked like a glasses case. “ _ Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown _ . He… he said you wouldn’t get that, because it wasn’t a Star Wars quote.”

Peter felt a smile touch his face at the same time it tightened against another rush of tears. He reached out and accepted the case from her. “Thank you, Ms. Potts. I… thank you.”

She just offered him another sad smile as he tucked the case into his pocket. He’d see what that was about later. Right now wasn’t the right time or place… and he really didn’t have the heart yet anyway.

**time-skip sponsored by the tears I’m crying as I write this**

It had been a week since the funeral, and the case was still lying untouched on his nightstand, right where he’d put it when he’d gotten home that day.

He just couldn’t bring himself to open it.

He’d told himself it just wasn’t the right time… that he’d know when it was… but he knew deep-down that wasn’t it. 

In reality, he was just running from it. The past week, he’d barely been able to keep his head above water as they’d had to find a new place to live and he’d been shoved back into his classes In the young school year. Luckily, they’d been easy… the school had made all of the “blipped” students enter the year they were on with those who’d just started the grade, even though the blip had occurred after midterms. So, he’d already done all of the work and it was easy to do it again. It wasn’t that it was hard. It was just that it was so much to try to catch up with, to try to fall back into normal life after the insanity he’d just lived through.

All of that, combined with the grief of losing the man who’d become like a father to him, was simply too much for him to process at once. So, he’d run from the grief, struggled to stay ahead of it and just not think about it and not accept that Tony was really gone.

If he opened that case, he’d be faced with that fact all over again.

And he just wasn’t ready to let go.

He was currently in his room, on the phone with Happy. After Peter gotten home from school that day, the head of security had called… and it seemed like he’d done so just to check on Peter. Nothing else… no mention of Spider-Man or anything.

“Are you getting enough sleep, Peter?”

The teen exhaled. “Yes, Happy, I’m getting enough sleep.” 

If lying awake all night, wishing he was dead counted as sleep.

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine, Kid.”

“I’m just stressed, Happy, alright?” he moaned. “School and moving… it’s just a lot.”

“I know.” The man on the other line sighed unhappily. “How’s May?”

“She’s okay.” Peter was grateful to have the conversation off of him. “She’s always liked… helping people. Speaking up for people. So she’s in her element right now.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.” 

“Hey, have you opened up that case Pepper gave you yet?”

“Oh, um… no.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. “Not yet. It just… hasn’t seemed like the right time, I guess.”

“I get that,” Happy told him seriously. “but you should open it. I think it might help.”

That was getting way too personal. He needed to end this conversation now, before it got any more so. “Listen, Happy, it was nice of you to call, but I really gotta go… I’ve got a ton of homework to do.”

“Alright, I’m sure you do. But call if you need anything, alright, Kid?”

“Yeah, alright.” He hesitated before adding. “Thanks, Happy.”

“Anytime.”

Peter hung up, letting out a long breath.

God, that man had changed. He still remembered the  _ feel free not to  _ Happy, and now he called to check on him and said to let him know if he needed anything? It was just… confusing.

The teen shook his head a little, tossing his phone aside on his bed. His eyes found that case again, and he bit his lip. 

He had to do it eventually. He had to face reality eventually.

He tried not to think about it… tried to just shut his mind off and do what he had to do. It was how he’d been living ever since he came back.

He reached out and picked up the case, turning it over in his hands a few times. He could do this. He could face this.

He closed his eyes and opened the case. It was a long moment before his eyelids could slide up as well. 

He was greeted by an unmistakable pair of glasses. He’d seen Tony wear them a million times before. His hands were shaking as he slowly picked them up and slid them onto his face. He could tell they were a little too big. Of course they were a little too big.

There was a slip of paper tucked into the case.

_ For the next Tony Stark, I trust you. _

_ P.S. Say EDITH – TS  _

“Edith?” he hated now small his voice sounded.

**Stand by for retinal and biometric scan. Retinal and biometric scan accepted.**

“Hello?” Peter asked uncertainly.

**Hello, Peter. I am EDITH, Tony Stark’s augmented and reality security defense system. You now have access to all of Tony’s protocols.**

“Cool…”

**Would you like to see what I can do?**

He was scared, but he was curious. It seemed like Tony had given him a pretty serious piece of tech.

“Um… sure.”

**EDITH stands for “Even Dead, I’m The Hero”. Tony loved his acronyms.**

Peter’s eyes closed against the threat of tears, but he could feel a weak smile on his face as well. “Yeah, he did.”

**I have access to the entire Stark Global Security Network, including multiple defense satellites, as well as backdoors to all major telecommunication networks.**

Peter was pretty sure that was very illegal, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Defense satellites? So, like… drones, right?”

**Yes, Peter. I can eliminate any target you set.**

“Wow.”

A pit of nervousness formed itself in his stomach at that. Why would Tony trust him with such a powerful weapon? He knew how stupid he was.

**Would you like to see anything else?**

He hesitated before he shook his head slightly. “Um… no. No targets now, so I… guess that’s good for now.”

**Very well.**

Peter slid off the glasses. He stared at them in his hand, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

_ I trust you. _

Why? Why would Tony trust him? He knew better than to trust him. Peter knew better than to trust himself.

But the words encouraged him nonetheless.

Because if Tony believed in him… maybe he could do this after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: suicidal thoughts, self harm, blood, panic attack, anxiety, grief, depression, censored language  
> summary: peter reaches breaking point and finds himself bleeding and alone until tony's protocols kick in and call happy.  
> word count: 3405

He couldn’t do this.

It wasn’t a question anymore… it was a fact. He was done. He was done trying, because it was all pointless anyway. He could barely face breathing anymore, and with everything else that was expected of him… he. Just. Couldn’t.

May was still at work when he walked in from school, tossing his lanyard aside and dropping his backpack on the kitchen floor. He pulled his earbuds and set his phone aside, shoving away the memory that beat at his head every single time he came home after school. 

_“Hey, May.”_

_“Hey. How was school today?”_

_“Okay. There’s this crazy car parked outside…”_

And then he’d seen him… Tony Stark. _The_ Tony Stark. Iron Man. The man who Peter had helped when he was a child, the man who’d saved Peter as he did, _good job, kid_ himself, sitting in his living room. 

He still cringed a little at the way he’d awkwardly stumbled through his introduction, still felt a sense of security that had first touched him with his mentor’s simple, “Tony.”

He could still close his eyes and relive the conversation they’d had in Peter’s room that day, the way Tony had sat next to him and gently nudged him out of his comfort zone. The way Tony had _chosen him_.

God, why had he chosen him? 

He didn’t get it. Why hadn’t he taken his suit away long before he did? Why had he given it back? Why had he wasted his precious weekly time to work with and mentor Peter? Why had he wasted mental energy worrying about how much he was eating, how much he was sleeping? Why hadn’t he kicked him to the curve the first time he’d had a panic attack, related back to homecoming night, in Tony’s presence?

He’d calmed Peter down with a skill that went deeper than just knowing what to say… and that was confirmed when he sat down with Peter afterwards, gently halted his racing apologies, and told him what he’d gone through after the Battle of New York, what he still went through. 

But Tony had saved the world countless times, faced countless threats thought of as fantasy a decade ago. Peter had fought one real bad guy, and he’d barely won.

At least, back then he had. Now, he’d fought one more bad guy and his army… one huge bad guy, bigger than anything he could have ever imaged facing. And he’d lost. Everything he’d done in the fight against Thanos had been, lose, lose, lose.

And now Tony was dead.

That was it. That was _everything_ seemed to end with, it seemed. Every trail of thought led to some memory or another, and every memory when followed down its road a little led to Tony, and every thought of Tony ended with the cold, hard truth that _he was gone_. He was gone, and maybe Peter could have stopped it.

Maybe Peter could have snapped. Maybe Peter could have held his attention and Wanda could have kicked Thanos’s butt like she’d been about to. Maybe Peter could have pulled _just a little harder_ back before the snap, gotten the gauntlet off and Thanos defeated before the stones were even collected.

Sure, it was easy to blame Quill for that failure. He’d lost it, after all, and if he hadn’t, they would have gotten it off. But they’d been so close… surely Peter could have just pulled a little harder, a little faster, given a little more, and then no one would be dead. Tony wouldn’t be dead. Tony would’ve returned to earth and married Pepper and had Morgan and they could still be a happy family. They could still be living the life all of them deserved.

But instead, because Peter just wasn’t strong enough, Tony was dead, Pepper was a widow, and Morgan had to grow up without a father.

Just like Peter.

Yeah, she had Happy and Rhodey. And Peter was trying to be a surrogate big brother for her… he’d swing by every week or so with something for her, and she’d repeat to him all the stories her daddy had told her about him. She’d smile, and Peter would see her father in her eyes.

But what Peter had found about having a surrogate father after losing your real one was that he would always die too. First Ben, then Tony, and Peter wasn’t trying again. That was why he held Happy at arm’s length, why he didn’t respond to Rhodey’s texts or the voicemails he left for him. Because he was done breaking people.

He just hoped that somehow life would be kinder to Morgan than him, and she’d be allowed a speck of happiness in the aftermath of Peter’s failure.

He could remember a time… practically his entire life, and especially since the bite… when the first thing he did when he got home was find whatever food they had in the house. But ever since he’d come back, his appetite had been gone, and he only glanced at the refrigerator before discarding the idea of eating.

He’d started going out on patrol a few nights a week again, but tonight was not going to be one of those nights. He just wasn’t in the headspace for it. He didn’t trust himself not to do something incredibly stupid when he was in moods like this.

Peter dropped onto the couch with his head in his hands. He needed to snap out of this… this wasn’t him. He was supposed to constantly be aching to get out on patrol, he was supposed to be skipping homework and getting zero sleep, because that was what he lived for.

But anymore, he had no idea what he was living for. 

Anymore, he had no idea why he was living at all.

Everywhere he went, tributes to his mentor haunted him. Everywhere he went, he felt like the air he was breathing was suffocating him. Five times a day, he was fighting a panic attack, and a few times a week, he was sprinting to the bathroom or his bedroom or somewhere he could hide because it was a battle he was going to lose. He’d barely slept since he’d blipped back… he spent nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wishing that he would just stop breathing.

May didn’t know, because she couldn’t know. She’d freak out if she knew what he was going through. She’d briefly suggested that he see a therapist for help with dealing with the loss of Tony and everything that had happened in space, but he’d quickly showed her why that was impossible. To talk through any of that would mean to reveal that he was Spider-Man, and that was something he couldn’t do. Besides, he’d assured his aunt that he was fine… he’d be fine.

But he wasn’t fine.

He felt like he was drowning, and he couldn’t take it anymore. 

His phone started to buzz where he’d left it in the kitchen. Moaning, he got to his feet and crossed the room. Happy’s name was displayed on the caller ID. 

Because another conversation of lying to the guy was _exactly_ what Peter needed right now.

He took a deep breath and accepted the call.

“Hey, Happy.”

“Hey, Peter. Just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re doing okay.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

It went the same every time.

“How’s Morgan?”

“She’s good,” Happy replied, sadness and a smile in his voice at the same time. “She’s processing everything well for the most part.”

“Cool.” Peter swallowed down the lump that had risen in his throat at yet another reminder of Mr. Stark. 

“How’s patrolling going?”

“Pretty good,” the teen sighed. “Pretty normal.”

“What about school?”

“Boring, done this before.”

“Yeah, I know. Hang in there.”

“Yeah.”

There was a long pause before Happy spoke up again, his voice gentle. “Kid, are you sure you’re okay? You sound awful. I’m worried about you, Peter.”

“Happy, I’m _fine_.” God, he did sound awful. “I promise.”

“Pete, you know I’m here for you, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So why do I feel like you’re lying to me?”

“I don’t know,” he moaned. “Cuz I’m not.”

Happy exhaled heavily. “Are you sure, Kid?”

“Positive.”

“Alright.” But it was clear he was less than convinced. “Then I’ll let you go. But give me a call If you need anything.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Good.”

They hung up.

He hated himself. God, he hated himself.

He was such a burden. He always had been. To his parents, to Ben, to May, to Tony, and now to Happy… he was always a broken little kid who just got in the way and screwed everything up.

So why was he still here? Since the life he lived didn’t seem to be capable of ending it for itself, why didn’t he just end it?

Because May. That would _kill_ May.

May would be better off without him.

Did he really want to leave her with the reputation of the woman whose nephew committed suicide?

So make it look like an accident. Make it look like part of his crime-fighting.

But how?

His hand came down on the counter, hard.

What was he thinking? This was insane. He _could not_ do that to his aunt. He could not do that to Happy. The guy would be a mess if he lost him. He’d blame himself. What about Morgan? She’d had to deal with enough loss lately.

He looked down, and dully registered the slight dent he’d just left in the counter. Awesome. That was awesome.

He hated everything.

No, he mostly just hated himself.

He snatched up his keys with the hand holding his phone and grabbed his backpack with the other. He had homework to do, and he needed to get out of his own head.

**time-skip sponsored by Marco**

Two hours later, he’d finished his homework and May still wasn’t home. She might get off at five, or she might get off closer to seven or even nine. It all depended on what was going on and who needed help. She’d text him if it’d be after six and tell him to order pizza or takeout or something. There was a time when he would have jumped on the chance, but lately when she did that, he said he would and then just didn’t eat. 

As if on cue, his phone buzzed softly, and he unlocked it to be greeted by a text with his aunt’s name on it.

_I’m helping a family move into their new place, so I probably won’t be home until eight at least. Go out and get yourself some supper or order something. I just transferred the money to my extra card’s account, and you know where to find it._

Peter couldn’t help but smile a little. May had such a big heart… she’d give someone in need the shirt off her own back, literally. And while he missed her when she wasn’t around, he was glad that he wasn’t going to have to choke down supper.

**Okay thanks. Be safe.**

_You too. Love you._

**Love you too.**

He sighed and set the phone aside. 

How it was just him and an empty apartment for the rest of the night. He could call Ned and he’d probably come over to binge The Clone Wars or build a Lego set or something, but he didn’t have the emotional energy to act like everything was fine for his friend, so he chose not to. No, he’d be fine. He could watch a movie by himself, or he could workout, or he could even go on patrol.

He really wasn’t used to having free time that he wasn’t desperate to use fighting crime.

What if he and Ned went and saw a movie? That wouldn’t take up so much emotional energy. It was Tuesday, and tickets were half-off on Tuesdays. He never used to take advantage of it because Tuesday was…

Because Tuesday was his day with Tony.

There was a thought, a poisonous thought that he’d let slip into his mind over the past few weeks, of his own blood, and of pain, and how he’d do anything to punish himself for being such a failure.

And now, that thought was controlling him. The only thing he felt empowered to do was choose between it and death. It was a taste of death, something to satisfy his craving for it, just for a moment. And it could be kept from his aunt. 

He certainly didn’t feel empowered over his mind as it screamed relentlessly, over his emotions as they begged him for a way out. He didn’t feel empowered over his hands as they opened his desk drawer and drew out the razor he’d hidden inside.

And he didn’t feel empowered over his hand as he rolled back his sleeve, his arm as it flipped in expectation of its fate, and his hand as it lowered the razor to that arm and pressed down hard.

The blood was memorizing, the pain addicting, and he did it again. And again, and again, until there was thick, crimson liquid sliding down his arm and dripping off the side, coating his pale skin with its guilty hue.

In a moment, he snapped back to reality. 

He stared down at his arm and gasped, the weight of what he’d done hitting him like a train. 

The razor fell from his hand and crashed to the floor, following the stream of blood drizzling off of his arm. The pain burned across his entire forearm, screaming for attention, crying guilty in an unending roar.

And yet it still felt good.

He shoved away the thought angrily, sprinting to the bathroom and sticking his arm under the faucet of the tub. He turned on the hot water, and it came out in a rush, quickly changing to red as it enveloped his bloody arm. 

And he just kept bleeding. Gallon after gallon of water passed over the marred surface of his arm, yet it continued to be dyed red by his sins. He was beginning to feel a little lightheaded, blinking away black spots from his vision periodically. 

This wasn’t working. 

He shut off the water and reached for his towel, desperately dabbing at the cuts. The blood drank up the clean surface, but it still didn’t stop. 

What had he been thinking? How was he going to hide this?

He’d wanted to slit his wrist once, maybe twice, just to release some of the pent-up guilt and pain inside of him. Not this. How was he going to hide this?

It took him an hour to finally stop the worst of the bleeding. He used an entire box of band-aids covering each and every cut, just so that if they reopened, they wouldn’t bleed through his sleeve. Then, he finally returned to the mess in his room. Another half an hour of scrubbing and dumping different chemicals on the stain in the carpet effectively removed it as well. He returned the razor to his drawer without even cleaning it.

When he was finally finished, he sat back and looked around. And it hit him all over again. He’d just cut up his own arm. Not once, not twice, but more times than he wanted to count. He’d done it on purpose. Maybe he was going crazy.

Maybe he was just a worthless piece of trash.

He needed to get out of here. And not just the apartment, but himself. He needed to be someone besides Peter Parker, because all Peter Parker could do was fail.

He stumbled to his feet and over to his closet, yanking his classic suit from its hanger. He pulled his shirt over his head and flung it across the room, then unfastened his jeans and tripped out of them as well. He jerked on the suit, tightened it, and grabbed his mask from where it had fallen on the floor.

Then, he launched a web towards his window and used it to yank it open and leaped out into the night. He transported himself to the top of his apartment building before he finally stopped to take a breath. This was who he was. This was what he did. He was fine. He’d be fine.

He let out a long breath and pulled on his mask. Karen’s voice greeted him.

**Good evening, Peter.**

“Hey, Karen,” he sighed, hating the way his voice trembled as he did. “What do you have for me tonight?”

**There appears to be a large amount of lacerations on your forearm which need further medical attention.**

Peter felt his heart clench. “They’re fine. Just tell me what’s going on.”

**According to the Baby Gate protocol, I can’t allow you to use any of the suit’s fighting abilities until your injuries are treated.**

And that was when Peter started to cry.

What would Tony do if he could see him now?

Tony, who cared about him so much that he wouldn’t let him fight if he had untreated wounds. Tony, who had trusted him so much that he’d left him access to a literal army of drones. Tony, who had made him an Avenger, who had held him in the middle of a panic attack, who had once called him “son” without even realizing it.

Tony, who was dead.

**Peter, you are injured and appear to be in an extremely unstable emotional state. According to the Trust vs Mistrust protocol, I am now notifying Happy Hogan.**

“No!” Panic gripped Peter as he looked up sharply, choking out the pleas through his tears. “Don’t tell Happy! Karen, I’m fine! I’m fi…”

**Happy Hogan has been notified and is on his way.**

“No!” He choked on the word. “Please! Call him back, tell him it was a mistake!”

**I’m sorry, Peter, but I can’t violate my protocols.**

This was not happening. God, he couldn’t do anything right!

Desperately, he used a web to lower himself back down to his window. He stumbled through and yanked his mask off, hurling it back into the closet and tripping out of his suit even more quickly than he’d put it on. He hopped back into his jeans and yanked on first his t-shirt, then a hoodie over the top of it.

He was fine. This was normal. He’d go out and start a movie, then act confused when Happy showed up. He hiccupped and inwardly berated himself. He was such a pathetic child!

He snatched his phone and water bottle from his desk and headed for the front room. He was fine. _He was fine_.

With “Revenge of the Sith” started on the tv, he used to water to still the hiccups, then he checked his phone. There were two new texts, and he expanded the notification to read them there.

_It’ll probably be closer to nine._

From May. Good. Then hopefully Happy would be gone before she got home. He certainly didn’t need to drag his aunt into this. 

_Stay where you are, I’m on my way._

From Happy, from a solid twenty minutes ago, when Karen first notified him.

****.

Peter chose to leave him on delivered. He had a better shot of convincing him in person than over text. It was easy to lie over text, and Happy would know that.

But the problem was, it wasn’t easy to lie in person. 

He shoved the thought away, trying to focus on the movie.

Instead, his mind returned to those ill-fated moments on the roof. _Trust vs Mistrust protocol_. It was another baby reference… he’d learned about it in Psychology. It was from Erik Erikson’s theory of child development, a reference to the earliest stage and what was at stake during it.

The theory said that when baby’s cried and you responded to them, they developed trust, because they knew their caregiver was going to be there for them. But if you didn’t come, or you only came sometimes, they didn’t develop that, because they were never sure whether or not someone was going to be there. That mistrust could last them for the rest of their lives.

Tony had wanted him to know that he was going to be there for him when he needed him, no matter what. Even if he didn’t call for him himself.

Peter started to cry again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: self harm mention, grief, depression  
> word count: 1189

It was softer, quieter, this time, just water silently streaming down his face. 

He wiped at it desperately while doing his best to stop it from coming. Happy would be there any minute and he needed to  _ get it together _ .

He was almost shaking, but he managed to still the tears.

The boy took a long drink of water and poured a little into his hand to splash on his face and eliminate the evidence. 

He was fine. None of this had happened. He was going to live like it never happened.

He stared at the tv and willed his mind to just shut off. 

Miraculously, it did.

His emotions had gone numb by the time a frantic knock sounded on the apartment door. Happy’s voice on the other side was desperate, scared. Unlike Peter had ever heard him before. 

“Kid? Kid, are you in there?”

The boy rose and made his way over to the door while Happy knocked again.

“Peter? Peter, please…”

He opened the door. 

Before he knew what was happening, the man on the other side had rushed forward and wrapped him in a hug.

Desperately clinging to the numbness he’d achieved, Peter also held to the tense surprise his body had reacted with at first, refusing to relax with the safety of the embrace.

“Happy?” he asked. “Happy, what are you doing? What’s the matter?”

The driver stepped back, keeping his hands on Peter’s shoulders. “Oh, God, Peter, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Happy.” He hoped his confusion sounded genuine. “I’ve been here all night. Why are you freaking out?”

“Peter, your suit called me.” He wasn’t buying this whatsoever. “Said your arm was bleeding, and you were crying, up on the roof. Now can you tell me what’s going on?”

“I don’t know!” When had lying become so easy? “I haven’t even been out on patrol tonight. The suit must be malfunctioning.”

“Hey, we both know Stark tech doesn’t malfunction, Kid,” the adult returned.

Peter spread his hands, looking him in the face. “I thought so too, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

The two stared each other down for a long moment before Peter stepped aside, sighing. “Do you wanna come in?”

Happy exhaled heavily, following the boy into the little apartment. The door closed behind them, and silence took over again.

Finally, it was the older man who broke it. “Can I see your arm?”

Swallowing back panic with an effort, he tried to look exasperated instead. “Why?”

“Because your suit said it was bleeding, Peter!”

“Well, it’s not!”

“Then you’ll have no problem showing it to me.”

That sounded like something Tony would say.

Now he was swallowing panic  _ and  _ tears. 

“Happy, I’m  _ fine _ .”

The security guard made a gesture like the next step was obvious. “Then prove it, Kid.”

“Fine.” He took hold of his right sleeve to pull it back, but Happy was shaking his head. 

“She said it was your left arm.” 

Peter rolled his eyes to cover a fresh wave of total panic.

He had no choice. If he didn’t show him, he wouldn’t know what to think. At least this way, he could lie or… or… or by some miracle, he actually got through this without Happy finding out about everything.

Before he could think it through, he yanked back his left sleeve. His mouth came open to voice an excuse he hadn’t thought of yet, but the words froze on his tongue.

The cuts which had been dumping endless blood an hour ago looked like scratches now. Only one, cut deeper than the others, still had blood visible.

“See?” He asked, trying not to sound too relieved. “I’m fine!”

“No, what’d you do to it?” But it was clear Happy had been expecting worse.

“A few nights ago, I fell into some rose bushes, and tonight a hold up guy grazed me with his knife. Okay?”

“I thought you said you didn’t go on patrol tonight, Peter.”

****.

Happy was considering him carefully, obviously trying to read his face.

“I…” He faltered. “I mean, I…”

This was not going well.

But it was still going a lot better than it could have. He’d never seen his accelerated healing work that fast. 

But he had seen his powers intensify when his emotions were running high. Usually, it was his Spidey Sense. Tonight, it’d been his healing. 

It took him a moment to return from his thoughts and realize Happy was still waiting for an answer. 

“I did go out on patrol,” he admitted finally, turning and walking a few paces away. “And I screwed up, and the guy caught me with his knife. So I didn’t want you to know about it.”

“So your arm  _ was  _ bleeding.” Peter’s back was to the older man, but he could hear his tone softening and knew his face would be doing the same. 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “My arm  _ was  _ bleeding. But I’m fine, you saw it.”

“So why were you crying?”

Peter inhaled slowly, thinking over his answer. Continuing to fully lie seemed useless. As much as he hated to, it might be wisest to stick as close to the truth as possible. He let the breath out and shrugged a little.

“I tried to just keep going after the guy cut me,” he said quietly, “but Karen wouldn’t let me. She said it was the… the Baby Gate Protocol. And I just… I…”

He turned back to face Happy again as the strength left his legs and he dropped onto the back of the couch.

“I just really miss him.” That part came out a whisper, choked with a stubborn bout of tears.

“I miss him too.” There was matching moisture behind Happy’s voice. “Everyday.”

Peter swallowed hard, trying and failing to regain control over the water running from his eyes. “I’m sorry I lied,” he said softly. “I just… I didn’t want you to think… to think that…”

“That you were a human who grieves like a human?” Happy asked gently. “That would sure be a disaster.”

The teen bit his lip and look a deep breath. “Seriously, I’m fine,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry you had to drive all the way over here.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Peter,” the driver sighed. “I wish you’d get it out of your head that you’re a burden to everyone around you.”

He didn’t reply to that. He didn’t have it in him to say he didn’t feel that way.

“Have you had dinner?” Happy asked at length.

He was so used to lying to May about that, that he nodded without even having to think about it. “I ordered takeout since May’s working late.”

“Yet mysteriously, I could check the whole apartment and find zero evidence of that, couldn’t I?” 

Peter looked up to argue, but the minute he met Happy’s gaze, he could see it was no use, and the strength dropped out of his shoulders, his eyes lowering with them, back to the floor.

“I’m not hungry.”

But Happy was already pulling out his phone to make the lie about the takeout true. 


End file.
